


Interlude

by velociraptors



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Birthday Sex, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, M/M, Male Friendship, Male Slash, Past Relationship(s), Porn with Feelings, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 04:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9641339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velociraptors/pseuds/velociraptors
Summary: Noctis wrestles with his feelings for Ignis post break-up while they're out exploring Duscae and then ends up celebrating his birthday with him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was working on a long Ig/Noct fic as a request for a nice person, but it's turning out really long and really slow burn, so I knew there was no way it'd be finished in time for Ignis' birthday. Hence, I wrote this in two days, so it's a rushed-out birthday quickie for Ignis. Sorry it's just short and sweet and not really much plot to it at all. Also, I want to write something for Valentine's Day, but I haven't figured out what pairing or ...what I'll even write really. Always open to suggestions! 
> 
> That being said, please enjoy this piece of fluff! Also sorry again it's like two days late... work ate me up and shat me out in pieces.

**001.**

Blood stains decorate his battered fingers, the rust color dried and caked between all the grit as Noctis idly tries to scrub it all off while absently listening to the catoblepas grazing in the distance. The last battle hadn't been easy, the next one probably even less so, but Noctis isn't thinking that far ahead as he focuses more on the sensation of his heart rate gradually slowing down. Imperials had dropped from the sky from one of the many ships patrolling the airways over Duscae, and through the rain and mud, he'd found himself gripping onto the edge of his life, narrowly avoiding a bullet that could have sunk its way to his chest. Luckily, his arm had intervened in time, the surface of his skin shaved off in a mess of an abrasion bound to leave an ugly scar after. Another shot had kissed the top of his thigh, taking with it some of the fabric of his pants and leaving an unsightly gash leaking through the hole, soaking into the dark fabric.

That had been the worst of it, but his fingers still shake as he washes himself, jacket balled up next to him in a pile after he'd pulled it off in frustration. It's been over a day without any sleep or rest, constantly moving from one place to another, caught in detour after detour on the way back to Lestallum, only imperials won't leave them alone long enough to complete any of their hunts. Fortunately, he's so sleep-addled that he can't think of anything else but the cool sensation of rain soaking the back of his hair and shirt and the stinging pain erupting from his wounds. The superficial lesions are easier to focus on than the ones bone-deep, burying those down for the time being when his eyes sting too much from crying and his throat is still raw from screaming.

Ever since they left Insomnia, it's been one issue to deal with after another and nothing present to take the edge off like there had been before, the reason why not lost on him as Ignis crouches next to him, always painfully and invitingly warm when Noctis is at his coldest. His eyes slide to watch his friend briefly, tracing over his serious and elegant profile, one he used to stare at so unabashedly, before reminding himself that's a chapter that they both closed long ago and for good reason. He had to fulfill his own part of the treaty, though he wonders how much weight a marriage would even hold at this point when it had clearly been a ruse from the very beginning. Luna's current whereabouts are also unknown, and sitting here scrubbing off buckets of his own blood makes him think he might not even live long enough to find her let alone make it down the aisle.

How much of it had become moot in the past few weeks? He's wrestled enough with his feelings to know that the things that are tangible and present in front of him tend to matter over the distant future, but that's not thinking the way a king should. He needs to consider the greater good. Yet, selfishness is often addicting, a habit that's almost impossible to break when Ignis had indulged him one too many times in the past.

The longing gets unbearable when he feels like he's teetering on the edge of a new breaking point, only masking his distress by remaining silent, locked in his head, taking the crusted dirt off his body like he can brush away even the worst of his fears into the lake with it. Ignis must sense something is off about him already because he lingers next to him though his hands are already clean, gloves sitting removed and pristine already next to him. There's not even a hair out of place on his head. He wonders how he manages that and yet feels so gratified when the rain strengthens and starts to plaster his bangs down to his face, reminding him of his old hairstyle before he tried to look something that can vaguely pass for being hip.

"Don't even make a comment," Ignis warns as he tries to brush his bangs to the side, and Noctis has to bite back the smile that wants to break out, chin ducking in towards his chest.

The wounds on his arm look about as clean as they're going to get, and he has to roll up his pants embarrassingly high to clean out the one on his thigh, unwilling to outright strip in the middle of the wilderness. He's not that adventurous, though he can't dispel the feeling that Ignis is the one eying him now, something he confirms when he tilts his eyes in his direction again only to catch his gaze head-on. With Ignis' glasses fogged up, it's difficult to spot any modicum of intensity behind them, but he does finally give into the small laugh that had been bubbling at the base of his throat. 

"You look ridiculous like that."

"The proverbial pot calling the kettle black. Have you seen your own state?"

That shuts up Noctis right away as he tries to peak over the lake to catch a glimpse of his own reflection, only the raindrops make it impossible. Just great. Sour hair to match his sour mood. He should be used to it by now, but it's hard not to feel the weight of the day bearing down on him heavily before he cups some of the water in his hand and drags it over the wound, trying to clean it out.

"Normally, I'd warn against bacterial infections from the lake water, but we have no other choice with no running fresh water. I do have a salve I can apply on your wounds once we return to camp."

It's better than nothing -a phrase they've found themselves saying over and over again, though Noctis isn't looking forward to the prospect of camping tonight. He's dying for a warm bed, dry clothes, and heating. Anything to remove the chill that's lodged itself to his very core, but he purses his lips to keep from complaining, too tired to bring it up anyway. It won't change a damn thing about today, and really, he should be grateful he wasn't crippled or worse.

His eyes wander back over to where Ignis starts to slide his gloves back on, following the sight of his long, tapered fingers as they elegantly drag one on, fitting it gracefully across his fingertips. It's practically performance art with him, but Noctis has always had an unspoken weakness when it comes to Ignis' hands, unable to really articulate to himself why the sight of them always makes heat boldly fuse across the inner walls of his stomach, but he's kept that small fact to himself for many years, knowing it'd be a strange thing to ever say out loud. Right now, he'd do anything to feel those same fingertips moving up the length of the back of his neck and into his hair, stroking warmly into his scalp and brushing through all the strands like Ignis used to those times he'd cradle his body to himself and press into him from behind, leaving him a ragged, trembling mess underneath, always biting the inside of his cheek so he could forcibly stop the scream building in his throat.

It must be he weariness that's getting to him and the tension lingering around each of his joints that's making him so desperate to unwind, and he knows that Ignis' proximity isn't helping at the moment either, so he finishes scrubbing the wound as fast as he can, practically scratching at it with his fingernails as he spreads the water into it. It's obvious Ignis is still watching him like he wants to intervene and make him move more carefully, but his silence speaks volumes more than his actual words. In the end, what they both want to say goes unacknowledged, and Noctis returns to camp feeling heavier than he has in a long time, practically ready to fall asleep on his feet.

The only thing that stops him is the promise of food, a stew that Ignis reheats quickly while Prompto stands next to him holding an umbrella for the both of them. Noctis just slinks into a chair and lets the water continue to pelt at him, eyelids drooping heavily when he blinks. Somewhere behind him, Gladio sets up the tent for the night on his own then taps his back to motion him inside.

"We can eat in there. Might as well try and dry up."

There's no point in building a fire in this weather, but they have small lanterns inside that offer some warmth. Ignis drops a thick towel over his head and dispenses the rest to everyone else before working his own hair dry. It's difficult not to follow the motions of it, difficult not to keep seeking his eyes out in the dark, watching the stray rain drops on his neck and jaw -watching the way Ignis peels off his glasses and stares at them all with uncovered eyes, the lantern painting them more green than blue at the moment.

Once again, the longing coils thickly through him, now a snake winding its way around the base of his spine because a year ago, he'd have just kissed him easily and tasted the rain from his mouth like it'd have been no different than breathing, but right now, all he can do is swallow down the bitter taste of re-heated stew, the staleness leaving a sour feeling in the back of his throat. It had tasted way better a day ago, but Noctis had never been a fan of leftovers.

His body curls on one end of the tent after, knees slightly tucked in as he faces the familiar green fabric, unwilling to turn the other way and look at Ignis who always sleeps flat on his back, close enough that his heat bridges the gap between them but not close enough to touch. The nights are always the longest like this, thinking he can naively wade through the jungle of thoughts in his mind and find some rest, though every exhalation from Ignis' lips overturns the very foundation of his mindscape and folds it painfully in on itself because he remembers the nights Ignis' breath used to crawl over the back of his neck and when his hand used to rest over his hip bone, idly dancing over the imprints left from where he grasped him too firmly on accident, the evidence that he'd shattered Ignis' control at some point.

Since they left Insomnia, the older man has been nothing but tight composure, not a single crack in his exterior that Noctis might even think to pick at if he's feeling reckless enough. With the mood he himself has been in, it feels like he could play with fire if he wanted to, he could turn around, could draw his own bloodied hands through Ignis' hair, could drag him forward and kiss him numb, but he knows Ignis wouldn't respond. His lips would utter a rejection in return then a reminder who he is, who they are -where they stand with one another. Though the break-up had been superficially mutual, it had really just been Noctis caving in to the inevitable rather than speaking with his heart at all, and the realization bites into the base of his brain like a feverish maggot until he realizes he's constantly craving for the freedom to breathe and find that charged release he used to get, hating himself for wanting it but not enough to actually stop thinking about it.

By morning's light, he's a bedraggled mess, legs sloppily scraping over the ground while he tries to decipher his dreams except only the shadows of them stick with him. What actually happened is a faded, distant memory, but he knows it left him unsettled because the dampness all across his skin is more sweat than rain. Ignis' gaze follows him once again, knowing just as well that he'd been caught in the throes of nightmares again, but he also wears the expression of a man who feels impotent to really do much about them. It's always been Noctis' own burden to bear, but the freshly made omelette that morning says he's concerned.

Comfort in the way of food -it's always been Ignis' favorite mode to speak to him, and Noctis is grateful as he fills his stomach greedily. With the rain having stopped for the time being, they might actually make it to one of the local Coernix stations to enjoy a night in a caravan or maybe Wiz's outpost. Prompto looks the most eager about the latter as he all but plops down next to him, ready to get the day going.

"Come on, we ought to take some time off and spend the day racing. Ignis' birthday is tomorrow anyway."

Not a fact that Noctis could forget even if he ever wanted to. The last birthday he'd spent with Ignis had been in Insomnia's inside arboretum at Ignis' own insistence, which had a small nature preserve on the inside. Noctis remembers climbing to the top level with him and watching the butterflies dance on the ceiling while small birds would come land on their shoulders. One of them had landed behind Ignis' own crested bangs and pecked at the strands while he tried to artfully shoo it away, sending Noctis into peels of laughter. Noctis could never forget the cross-eyed face of shock he made that day.

Afterwards, they had tea in the basement level, surrounded by aquarium tanks with bio-luminescent fish that glowed brightly in the background, but Noctis found himself constantly peeking at the way the aqua lines of the tank would dance over Ignis' face and how vivid his eyes looked in the neon tank lights. He learned then what he still knows now -that he can't just switch off his feelings for him the way Ignis can, still clinging to those memories like a child huddling inside his favorite blanket. They're all he has left these days when the wedge between them seems to grow even as they share every waking moment together, breathing the same air and smelling the same acrid stench of dead beast carcasses all around them.

His shoulders end up sagging even though he nods in agreement with Prompto's suggestion.

"Do I get any say in this?" Ignis pipes in, though it's obvious he's not upset about it at all.

It's been a long time since they had a break from traveling and having to chase after their dinner. A nice refuge wouldn't hurt, though Noctis is aware that Gladio is also eager to return to Lestallum and Iris. All eyes end up turning towards him, but he looks just as resigned as Ignis about it.

"Fine, but if I beat you all at racing, I get the big bed in the caravan. No more squeezing into the shoe box compartments while his royal highness hogs all the space."

Noctis' brows furrow in irritation, though it's not untrue. He's usually the first to steal the big bed and curl up inside it -mostly because he's the first one asleep.

"That's only _if_ you win," Noctis intones, not about to give it up without a fight, either.

A punch to the arm is Gladio's response to that, light enough to not hurt but firm enough enough to jostle him a little. 

"You're on."

 

**002.**

 

The smell of chocobos hits them long before any of them actually arrive at the ranch, and Prompto doesn't even wait until the car is parked before hopping off the side and running to pet the first chocobo he sees. The rest of them move with moderately less enthusiasm, though it is nice to clear their minds for a bit, especially since Noctis is still recovering from a poor night's sleep and his latest set of battle wounds. His leg hadn't been hurting him as much yesterday, but today, the ache travels upwards along his nerve endings, making him have to cover up the slight limp before the others worry. The bandages and salve Ignis had applied to it before bed had done little to actually numb the pain and sting of the abrasions, but it'll heal eventually -definitely not before he collects more wounds, though. He's lost track of all the scars he's racked up since he left Insomnia to join the ancient ones he had since he was eight years old, phantom aches that still plague him to this day.

His eyes briefly follow Prompto's form as he coos over one of the chocobos, smiling fondly at him. As usual, he's at home embracing them and running his fingers along their feathered necks, tempting Noctis to do the same. However, he's more interested in sneaking away for a quick nap while Gladio joins Ignis at the feed shop. There aren't really a lot of spaces to crawl into, and no one's particularly given him much alone time for fear he'll get attacked or kidnapped without some protection. While Noctis appreciates the company and concern, he needs a little room to breathe, not to mention he hasn't really thought about what he should get Ignis for his birthday - _if_ he should get him anything at all. What exactly does a guy give to his one time ex- ...something?

He wouldn't have necessarily called them boyfriends back then nor would he have necessarily called what they went on dates. They'd been something undefined between the label 'friends' and whatever comes directly after with the caveat that sex just happened to be a thing they did like any other activity. They treated it so casually that Noctis had to wonder why he'd gotten so ensnared by the thought of not doing it anymore when they stopped, only knowing that the proverbial itch follows him around, and he doesn't feel enough for anyone else to scratch it. He doesn't know if he ever will, not even sure how to breach the subject with Luna when he finds her, but he's always shuffled that concern for his future self to deal with. He hadn't even known they'd be marrying one another until almost a month ago, and his life had changed so fast since then, that he hasn't had adequate time to process it.

The present him just wants to keep numbing the parts of him that are still hurting on the inside, but he knows that Ignis is someone he has to get over sooner rather than later, though he wonders if he's the only one who's ever really missing the way they used to be. Sometimes, when Ignis' hand lingers over his, when his fingertips twitch over his knuckles and his eyes trace over his face, he likes to imagine he's also wishing he could relive their past evenings with one another when they'd been at their most desperate and unbridled. But maybe Noctis is also just fooling himself at this point because Ignis has never so much hinted even before they broke things off that he wanted more than just physical release beside their close friendship. The intimacy had been convenient but not entirely a necessity to him, though he hasn't pursued anyone else since then. There hasn't been any time truthfully, but he wonders if Ignis hadn't just given into him from the onset because Noctis had been the only one who wanted it.

Yet the nights he felt him moving over him, kissing and biting his lip, fingers clutching his cheeks bone-deep, he could swear there was always something more that Ignis had been trying to tell him with the way he'd brand the surface of his flesh. Who really knows at this point, but Noctis doesn't want Ignis to think he ever stopped mattering to him, either. Even long before their arrangement, Noctis had managed to give him gifts on his birthday as soon as he was old enough to afford them. The very first thing he'd given him had been a King's Knight stationary set that had gone mostly unused as Ignis always defaulted to using the official royal stationary, but Noctis had seen it sitting in his desk in his apartment still wrapped in plastic and in pristine condition. After that, he'd given him a scarf for the winter months that Ignis had worn on occasion until it had grown worn and faded, but Ignis had kept it hanging in his closet nevertheless. The last gift he'd given him on his birthday just a year ago had been a fancy set of cooking knives that he bought with his own part-time job money, though Ignis had joked that they were sharper than the ones he uses for battle and might consider swapping them out.

It had been the happiest he could remember seeing him, but that's a memory that's falling rapidly from his fingers like trying to cup water in the palm of his hand. He's afraid that's a moment he won't ever be able to replicate or even come close to feeling again, so he doesn't even bother worrying too much about what to get him. It's not like he has a lot of money on him anyway, though he does wait until everyone is suitably distracted to call on a chocobo and sneak away for a bit. First, to get Ignis some small gift at least. Then, a decent nap.

The trek brings him to the Coernix station just a little over a few miles away from the chocobo ranch. It's practically empty when he reaches there, the clouds already stirring above for another repeat of the rain storm from the day before, and Noctis' legs are screaming at him for having thought riding a chocobo in this condition was a good idea. He ignores the foreboding ache as he drags himself through the station, contemplating just restocking the car with Ebony coffee for him and calling it a day, though he doubts he even has to. Knowing Ignis, he's probably already replenished their stock and then some. He'd once found his emergency stash hidden in a secret compartment in the trunk, which goes to show anyone the lengths that man would go through for coffee.

His next options are magazines, some of which have racy covers -not the kind Ignis would ever be caught dead looking at. There's a new issue of Angler's Monthly that Noctis almost reaches for before he mentally berates himself for nearly getting distracted. Not what he came here for, but he will come back and pick up the issue when he has more money.

His fingers drift over the rest of the titles, trying to avoid the hint of embarrassment that passes through him as one of the covers features a very under-dressed model. That's more Gladio's thing, though he feels uneasy even being caught next to it, so he shuffles away awkwardly before he finally spots something of value. It's a small pocket recipe book for Duscae-region ingredients, something he's sure Ignis probably doesn't own already, and if he does, too bad for him. He's getting another one because Noctis' options have proven to be very limited. At least,... it's _something_ , though it still doesn't feel remarkably special. He doesn't even have a gift bag to put it in, so he has to wrap it in a brown paper bag and stuff it under his shirt to protect it from the rain until he reaches the nearby caravan so he can rest.

And yes, he does treat himself to the big bed even if he hasn't particularly earned it. Gladio can complain to him later about it, already playing through the inevitable conversation in his head as his back hits the mattress. It's hard and lumpy but a lot better than sleeping in a tent, and he indulges in every moment of it as he falls asleep with the book still clutched to his chest.

Time seems to fly by unavoidably quick from the second he closes his eyes, losing track of it completely until his phone vibrating maniacally in his pocket finally rouses him out of his death-like slumber. His hair sticks matted down to the side of his face as he blearily gropes around for it before giving a garbled answer in greeting.

"Eighteen missed calls, Noct," Ignis tells him in that firm edge that subtly impresses on the point that he did something stupid, "We assumed the behemoth found you and decided to drag you away for its dinner."

"Like I'd go down without a fight," Noctis defends, though he's quite sure it'd be a losing battle.

The last time they faced it down, he'd only survived because of Ignis' ingenuity.

"Comforting words, I'm sure. Where are you?"

Noctis' arm pushes against the mattress so he can sit up, grogginess still fogging up his mind as he tries to understand where he is exactly. That's right... he'd passed out in the caravan near the Coernix station, but he doesn't want to make the guys come out all the way here to fetch him. Prying Prompto away from his chocobo feels like a crime.

"Just went for a joy ride. I'll be back soon, okay?"

"That's not reassuring."

His finger taps the screen to hang up before Ignis protests even further, knowing he'd still insist on him staying where he is. He'd rather not make it obvious what he came out here to do so he makes sure the package is still secure under his shirt before calling his chocobo again. The rain is out in full-force by then, plastering his fringe to his face as he struggles to hold onto the reins. The road is slippery and muddy everywhere, not exactly the most pleasant situation, but all he can worry about is whether or not the book cradled against his abdomen will be destroyed by the time he has a chance to give it to Ignis.

Unfortunately, the telltale sound of a ship hovering above makes him wonder if he'll even survive the journey at this point, heaving a sigh as he leaps off the chocobo. Might as well try and get this over with quickly, watching the MTs march towards him. The gun blasts strike from every corner, merciless where they rip across the edges of his skin. He has to smash a few potions to keep his body moving fluidly as he warps from one end of the battlefield to the other, doing his best to take them out, though there are way more than he anticipated. Aside from being outnumbered, one of them has a noise blaster that knocks him off his feet and leaves him smashing into the wet ground.

Mud soaks his back and dirties his skin and hair, making it hard to breathe, and he remains stunned on the ground, back aching with unbidden pain before an MT crouches over him to ram a claw through his abdomen. A cry rips free from his lips, feeling the heat of it burn close to his skin, and the smell of his own blood is already curling thickly under his nose as he inhales and shudders, mind yelling at the rest of him to move and keep fighting. He can't afford to die right here and not for some reckless reason.

Gritting his teeth, he shoves his own sword into the MT's shoulder in return, driving it deep even as the sparks start to burst and singe his face and hair. His eyes are quickly averted away, avoiding being blinded while the muscles in his arms ache, not stopping until the sword is sheathed at the hilt into its body, and he hears the haunting shriek of it as it starts to prepare to explode, his own face paling at the realization that he has no time to move or get out of the way.

For a moment, his vision goes dark, eyelids squeezing shut like dropping curtains over the world, expecting the pain that will follow -only, it never comes. Instead, the MT is brutally impaled from behind on a familiar great sword and flung like it's only made of paper and scrap metal until it explodes far away. The rest of the MTs are practically bulldozed by fire magic that engulfs the surrounding area, swallowing up their metal limbs and causing heat to flare around Noctis' body from every angle as he struggles to move.

"Must have been some joy ride," he hears someone comment, unable to make out the voice when his ears are still ringing from the explosion of fire.

"Is he all right?" another voice asks, one he's certain is probably Prompto's, though he can't tell right now where the blond is in his hazy field of vision.

Gladio ends up being the first at his side in that instant, a single hand hoisting him to his feet and supporting his weight. The book is still pressed to his abdomen in obvious tatters by now and probably decorated with his blood, but he's sort of grateful he had the foresight to stick it there, otherwise he might have suffered some internal bleeding. As it is, the wounds are only superficial and not as bad as they could have been, so he swallows down the pain for now and lets Gladio all but carry him back to the caravan.

 

**003.**

 

It's difficult to say at what point during the trek back to Wiz's Chocobo Post he managed to pass out, only aware that he even did when he wakes up hours later with his muscles all screaming furiously at him for even attempting to take on that entire contingent of MTs on his own. Noctis hadn't been doing _that_ badly, though it doesn't escape his knowledge that he'd have probably wound up dead if not for his friends' interference. He owes them a lot, more than he's capable of rasping out at the moment as his throat feels like he swallowed down a bag of rocks, and the pain from his abdomen sears right through him with each breath. His vision remains hazy as he blinks up blearily at the ceiling, struggling to ground himself back in the present.

The recipe book is no longer in its 'safe' place, and someone had taken the time to bandage him up carefully and apply the anti-bacterial salve all over him. It doesn't take a genius to guess who, though he's a little disappointed his surprise was ruined. That seems to be the general trajectory his life is going at the moment, and he really should stop expecting any different at this point, though hopefully Ignis will be touched enough by the gesture that he might spare him a lecture for going off on his own.

His body slowly curls upwards to sit, weight shifted to his palms as he pushes off of them to maintain some sort of balance because his core muscles are still screaming from the smallest effort to move. There's a rustling noise from the entrance of the small private caravan room that draws his attention to the fact that he isn't exactly alone. Again, not exactly a lot of guesses as to who it can be, and Noctis' shoulders sink forwards, already awaiting the reprimand.

"If you know what I am going to say, is there any point to saying it?" Ignis asks him, and his footsteps sound heavy and poignant to his ears as he crosses the threshold and seats himself at the edge of the bed.

There's a mug of coffee in his hands, and his face looks wearier than Noctis is used to seeing it. He must not have gotten any sleep at all, which makes guilt instant roil through his injured stomach as he avoids looking him directly in the eyes. He ends up shaking his head at the question before murmuring a quiet, "Sorry."

It's not much, but it is sincere. He doesn't know what else he can say to explain himself except that he doesn't really want to get into the whole... getting him a present thing and the embarrassment that comes with it. He really shouldn't have gotten him anything at all, knowing he'd crossed an invisible line -that he's still clinging stubbornly to what he himself should have ended weeks ago. But the feelings don't disappear over night, and being on the road with him pounds them harder into the back of his skull until he wants to reach out and touch him just for the vaguest sense of comfort their old relationship used to bring him.

He hadn't realized how much it all meant until he'd lost it completely, and it's difficult trying to be just friends when they're alone and when Ignis shows some rare inkling of vulnerability like he is now -like he is when their eyes do cross, and Ignis looks scared instead of upset.

"Noct, your life isn't worth sacrificing over something innocuous like this-"

His hand sets down the mug before extracting the remains of the recipe book from his jacket, showing where it had been sliced through, his own blood now permanently marring the pages and obscuring the text. It definitely won't be of much use to him now, but it doesn't stop Noctis from awkwardly shrugging.

"Happy Birthday?"

The response makes Ignis raise one finely groomed eyebrow over his thin-rimmed glasses before his face slowly breaks out into the smallest of smiles. It's minute but easy to catch for Noctis who spends an inordinate time studying his friend's face when he can, always memorizing the basic shapes of it, and he always does look his actual age when he smiles instead of like the age-old veteran chamberlain he purports to be with his rigid mannerisms. It's difficult not to be entranced by the slight curve of his lips and the way his eyes crinkle delicately at the corners.

"...what am I going to do with you?" he finally remarks with an exasperated sigh, and Ignis' hand moves out towards him, curved fingertips very lightly brushing over the ends of Noctis' fringe like they want to press in deeper, push through the strands, stroke him until his head careens back and his body melts.

Noctis would give anything to feel that way right now, but instead, Ignis just lets his hands hover along the edge of his hair, tickling over the soft edges.

"You might not remember this, but I kept the first gift you gave to me all those years ago..."

"The tacky stationary set?" Noctis asks curiously -but he already knows he kept that because he'd seen it every time he'd gone over to Ignis' place.

"No, even before that. There was something else," he explains, voice growing quieter as his head lowers. His expression starts to grow distant like he's seeing the memories play out before him on a screen. "It was before your accident, so I figured your memories of the time had become murky."

It's true. Noctis had very few memories of what happened before he was eight years old, only slivers of images all fitted together in a torn up patchwork in his mind. Very few of them make sense to him now, and he wishes he hadn't lost all those dear memories, but the doctors had told him at the time that it was the result of the trauma. He hadn't ever quite been himself after that, and the child of the past had been lost to time. Only Ignis now retains those memories of who he used to be, and it's weird to hear him talk about him like he's another person entirely.

"What did I give you?"

There's a stretch of silence as Ignis angles his head back before reaching for something in his pocket. He holds it tight and out of reach, cradled in his palm as he starts talking once more.

"It was a year before the accident, and my uncle must have told you when my birthday was that year because you had never said anything about it before then. When I came to visit you, you had run up to me excitedly and had put your small arms around my stomach. Before then, you had also never so much as initiated a hug. It had been impressed upon me that such affection between a master and servant was rather unorthodox..."

If a hug was considered that unorthodox, he's pretty sure Ignis' uncle's hair would have turned white if he ever learned what they did years after. Even so, Noctis still wishes he could remember that moment with the same fondness and clarity that Ignis can, straining to reach into a deep abyss of memories to see if he can pull out even the tiniest image from that time.

"You told me 'Happy Birthday'," he continues, "in an unabashed tone before you held out a small box with a bow. It had been clear you had just swiped the gift box from somewhere in your home and the gift was one of your own trinkets."

His words taper into a small chuckle as his own fingers curve before his lips to try and hide it. The expression looks unbearably endearing on his usually composed features, making it impossible for Noctis to even shift his eyes away for a moment as he watches him.

Ignis finally opens the other hand cradling the gift to show him -a small cartoon marlboro cell phone charm. Of course, Ignis wouldn't be caught dead actually putting it on his government-issued official Crownsguard phone, but the sight of it does spark something unclear in Noctis' mind. Mostly, he remembers the way Ignis used to smell before he started cooking, the clean, sterile soap scent from his youth that had gradually turned to rich spices like cinnamon, vanilla, and cumin eternally clinging everywhere to him. It's not a whole lot, but it's _something._

"You really kept something as silly as that after all these years?"

Ignis' response is a gentle nod as he dangles the little marlboro. "I'd received many official gifts from the crown for my years of service, but the ones that came from you ...were different. You had no obligation, yet you still wanted to do it."

Of course, he wanted to. He always wanted to pry Ignis out of his role and get him to see him as anything else _but_ the prince. He'd been his first companion before he met Gladio and Prompto, having felt lonely without any siblings and constantly only being surrounded by adults. There was never anyone to play with or get into all sorts of trouble with, so Ignis had become his unwitting accomplice, though he always had a feeling that Ignis also needed someone to make him forget that he's a chamberlain and servant to the crown. To remind him that he's very much human underneath and also might have been yearning for a friend back then, too. He'd never seen him do anything but work when he wasn't around the three of them. Even now, he doesn't let go of his control very often to enjoy himself, but it's nice to see him do things like race chocobo or get dragged into Prompto's dorky photo ops. Every laugh or smile they manage to wedge out of him... they mean a lot to him. If it weren't for himself, Ignis life could have been a lot different. He might not have had to carry such a heavy burden and could have even gone to university, married, had children.

To think that he's taking him away from all that just by existing makes the guilt feel like a torrid punch to the gut because the three of them should have lead far better lives than the ones they have now. But what can Noctis do except try and show that he's grateful sometimes even if he's terrible at saying it or demonstrating it with small gestures? Either way, Ignis should be able to read perfectly between the lines to understand that he does matter to him, more than Noctis can ever hope to express and not just because of the kind of relationship they had in the past. Even without that, he would still be grateful to have him by his side in any capacity.

"Are you going to keep the recipe book, too?"

Ignis looks thoughtful for a moment before thumbing through it carefully. The dried up blood has already made some of the pages already stick together.

"I'll tear out the salvageable pages, but you'll have to forgive me if I dispose of the rest for sanitary reasons."

Noctis shrugs at that, not exactly blaming him. It's not easy to clean something made out of paper. "Maybe we can try and make one of them tonight."

Ignis' eyebrow quirks upwards again. " _We?_ Since when have I ever gotten you to assist me in cooking without strong-arming you out of bed?"

Well, he's not wrong about that.

"I can make an exception. Only for your birthday."

He tries to make the words roll out casually, but the smile he receives in response leaves his whole body thrumming pleasantly, the sensation exacerbated when Ignis' hand draws over the back of his neck. It's then that he realizes that the other man's fingers are bare, gloves stripped off most likely because he'd been patching him up earlier. The skin-to-skin contact leaves goosebumps rising all over the surface of Noctis' skin as he fights down any other obvious reaction, but it's already shameful at how frantically Ignis can make his heart pound and his head spin just by touching him. He chalks some of that reaction up to the blood loss from earlier just to give himself the benefit of a doubt that he's not as desperate to be near him as his body is trying to make him seem.

Just as he expects the hand to leave him, Ignis' fingers tighten along the back of his neck instead, warmly cupping the curve of it, and Noctis' mind is spinning fast, lips parting unconsciously to try and suck more air into his lungs, unsure what to expect. It definitely isn't for Ignis to kiss him, soft lips touching his almost tentatively, the heat of his breath crawling its passage into Noctis' mouth where he can taste the rich coffee he'd been drinking just moments ago. He's always hated the taste of it, but sampling it from the surface of Ignis' tongue makes it unbearably mouth-watering as he instantly chases after it, licking over the surface like a starved animal as he suddenly takes over.

Both his fingers become hard claws against Ignis' cheeks, pressing into the bones to hold him captive and prying his mouth open wider with a quiet groan as he fervently brushes their tongues together, and he knows his already waning control on the situation will fracture if he keeps doing this, but he's never been the logical of the two of them. Instead, he's pure impulse embodied, driven by the throbbing sensation erupting across his nerves as he moves closer, chases at Ignis lips to crush them tighter to his own and finding his own body all but starting to move over his lap.

Right when he thinks he'll end up haphazardly seated over him and burying himself against the sweet contact of Ignis' body, he's suddenly forced back. Ignis' hands firmly grip his hips and move him down onto the bed, pinning him there and making him wince as his wounds reignite with pain. The phantom sensation of glass digging into his abdomen makes it hard to breathe, and he hisses outwards even while Ignis strokes over the bandages soothingly.

"Forgive me, Noct," is all Ignis can say, his face looking genuinely crushed and apologetic. There are a few strands of hair out of place, clinging attractively to his forehead, but all Noctis can focus on is the fact that Ignis means to stop and pull away.

Because why should he expect any differently by now? Though it doesn't escape him that Ignis initiated the kiss to begin with, which at least clears up some of the doubts he had that Ignis hadn't been missing what they had before. It seems more obvious than ever reading his face at the moment that he's yearning just as hard to keep going, that he's struggling to be the voice of reason in all this, and Noctis is warring with himself on just how petulant he is to fight back.

Ultimately, the pain in his gut wins over everything, and he backs down and nods, letting the disappointment scrawl itself pronounced on his face as he settles back into the pillows.

"No harm done, right?"

He tries to brush it off, but even his words feel hollow as he watches Ignis calmly fix his hair and straighten himself up. The charm is pushed back into his pocket, and he makes sure that Noctis is in decent shape as he rests before leaving some painkillers and water by his nightstand.

"I'll come check on you in the morning."

Noctis manages a nod, feeling his head lost in a flurry of complicated thoughts as he tries to figure out what he really wants to say -there's a lot he _should_ and _shouldn't_ say, but it doesn't change the fact that Ignis always makes him want to be a selfish human being instead of a king. He knows that's not the kind of sentiment he should be entertaining with Luna in danger and so many expectations already foisted upon him, but any chance at normalcy is hard to let slip away. And tonight's the first hint that he's had in a long while that Ignis wants him, too.

 

**004.**

 

The painkillers don't knock him out as long as he wishes, eyes suddenly popping open some time while it's still dark outside. In the distance, he can hear Gladio's loud snoring erupting from his body, and there's a faint light from the one caravan window highlighting Prompto's tightly curled up body on the bunk over him. It takes effort to move, though the pain has dulled by now to a mere throbbing sensation as Noctis quietly walks through the small caravan, only pausing to note that Ignis' bunk is empty. He must be out by the car or taking a walk, nothing that would generally trouble him except Noctis isn't the mood to go back to sleep for once.

Gladio stirs once to turn his eyes up at him, muttering a garbled warning not to wander off on his own again, but Noctis ignores it and passes through, intent on getting some fresh air. Judging by how dark it is outside, it must be some time past midnight, and the stars look all the brighter out in the middle of Duscae than they ever did in Insomnia. It's something Noctis always takes comfort in even if the night is filled with plenty of violent daemons lurking around as well. At least, there's still that beautiful sea of lights overhead, reminding him of all the worlds that exist out there -worlds he'll never touch and only dream of. Ignis used to take him outside all the time as a kid and point out the few constellations they could see from beside the Citadel, absently rattling off factoids about each and every one while Noctis pretended not to listen as closely as he had been.

He wishes now he could remember those tales or even could ask Ignis to repeat them to him again, well aware he probably still has them archived somewhere in his mind, but that would be a little too embarrassing to request. It'd definitely be more sentimental than he likes to show himself off as these days, so he ignores the niggling urge and continues his walk.

The Regalia sits in the dim parking lot just a few meters away with the roof covering it, though Noctis' steps halt completely when he realizes that Ignis is in the driver's seat. His friend has his head drooping down over the steering wheel, looking like he's trying to sleep in there, but why wouldn't he just sleep in the caravan? Gladio's snoring couldn't have been _that_ bad.

Against his better judgment, he moves towards the Regalia to investigate, knuckles lightly tapping at the windshield. That makes Ignis practically jump up in surprise, his hair in a bit of a disarray as he blinks rapidly. With his glasses sitting on the dashboard, he looks far more unkempt than Noctis is used to seeing him even in the mornings.

"Open up," he requests, and Ignis replaces his glasses on his face before unlocking the doors for him.

In an instant, Noctis circles around to slide in through the passenger seat before turning on the car's heater to combat the chill from the outside. He can't believe he'd been sleeping in this cramped place without even the heating on. Just what's gotten into him?

"Not exactly fitting accommodations for the birthday boy."

"I've had worse," Ignis comments nonchalantly before his hands pass over his fringe, fixing the wayward strands into place.

"So have I. Doesn't mean we should make it a habit."

Or is he the only one worried about not having to fight with a crick in his neck on top of all the other stuff they have to deal with? It also feels weird to be the one nagging Ignis for once, but he can't say he exactly minds the role reversal. It's rare he catches the other man letting his guard down even for just a second. Maybe his control is slipping more lately than he thought, especially after what happened earlier.

"I'll follow you in after a few minutes. I was just enjoying silence." 

That's something he can understand. Hadn't he been craving alone time earlier, too? Maybe Ignis has been hankering for a decent reprieve from having to worry about all of them all the time, especially himself. The guilt from earlier presses into the inside of his stomach, and he frowns, knowing him sneaking off probably hadn't ameliorated Ignis' stress one bit.

That is ultimately why he concedes to leaving him alone without much of a fight, reaching for the door handle until his wrist is grabbed and tugged sharply.

" _Wait_ -," Ignis tells him, and his eyes look darker than usual behind the lenses of his glasses, the shadows splayed over them making his expression all the more difficult to read.

Noctis had never been particularly good at picking him apart, and right now, he's having a lot of trouble parsing through Ignis' almost-erratic behavior to get through what's really bothering him. Maybe he also didn't expect to be spending his birthday far from Insomnia, his king long-dead and his home in ruins. The thought that they won't even return to their home as they left it is one that's haunted Noctis each and everyday, but he forgets that it's not just his home. Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto all had family and friends there, too -family and friends they'll never see again. The reminder must be hitting Ignist strongest today, and Noctis decides, for once, that he wants to be the one who can comfort and ease that burden from him instead of the other way around.

Taking a deep breath, he doesn't even allow Ignis to say anything more, body moving to finish what he started earlier with a stubborn amount of initiative as he instantly traps Ignis beneath him, legs bent and knees on either side of Ignis' hips while his weight rests on his lap. His hands latch onto either side of the driver's seat, Ignis' head caught in between as he stares at him, unwilling to back down this time even as his pulse starts to race frantically beneath his skin and even as Ignis stares up at him with wide-eyed shock, a firm rejection already resting on the tip of his tongue.

"Noct-"

He doesn't get much further than that as Noctis seals his lips tight against Ignis', thoroughly cutting him off when his tongue wriggles into his mouth. The taste of coffee is no longer there, replaced by mint toothpaste, but he still scrapes the flavor of it with the tip of his tongue as his hips edge forward, wanting to mold himself to him everywhere. His hands follow suit, sliding from their purchase to drive into Ignis' hair, curling sharply around the short strands to keep their faces pushed together as he tries to rock over him in the small space. There really isn't a lot of room to move, let alone do much but shift his hips and press his own responding groin into the curve of Ignis' stomach, boldly daring him to stop him at this point.

He's definitely expecting it when Ignis' own fingers glide up his back to fist into his t-shirt, and he's forceful when he yanks Noctis backwards to stare at him squarely, his eyes flickering wildly over his face then along the sliver of space between their bodies. "You know very well I can't keep diverting your attention like this. You have an obligation to Lady Lunafreya."

An obligation that went up in smoke the moment Niflheim attacked Insomnia. Whether or not he'll still carry out is something he'll have to talk to her about, and that means actually finding her, first. The fact that Ignis keeps using that to drive a wrench in between them is becoming an exhaustive matter at this point, and Noctis is frankly sick of hearing it.

"Ignis," he says calmly, trying not to snap like he wants while his gaze remains unwavering -almost challenging him to a brute point.

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

No further argument follows at that point as Noctis' hand gropes around the dashboard to smash over the button that removes the sunroof from the car. There's no one else outside at the moment, so he figures it might be safe to look up at the stars when he's not busy trying to figure out what new thoughts are rolling through Ignis' brain. At least, it's difficult to argue under the intimate moonscape as the sky is unveiled before them, eerily calm, still, and beautiful, and he lowers his forehead to touch Ignis,' still daring at him to try and stop him again because he doesn't plan on losing this argument. It's his birthday. They both need to unwind.

"Only for tonight then," Ignis finally whispers, his face softening visibly as he removes his glasses to put them back calmly on the dashboard so that there is little interference.

It's enough of a concession for Noctis to instantly latch onto, cupping his face and tilting his head up so he can find his lips once more. Ignis' mouth becomes more pliant against his, opening to welcome him and sucking on his lower lip with gentle force as the rest of his body shifts with the change in tempo, now all too welcoming and inviting. Ignis' hands then crawl beneath his shirt, manicured nails climbing up the ridges of his spine before stroking back down the curve of it in a way that makes Noctis shudder against him and spread his thighs a little wider so he can push his hardening cock deeper into his stomach. It's frustrating to try and grind feverishly against him through so many layers of clothes, itching for more contact of bare flesh to bare flesh, and he ends up trying to wrestle with the buttons on the top of Ignis' shirt just so he can reach his chest. The first few pop open easily enough, allowing his hand to dip inside at last and press against his skin where his heart beats just as savagely as his own against his palm, a gratifying assurance that Ignis wants this just as badly. That there's a craven hunger underlying his actions at the moment, and Noctis is picking hard at his seams, trying to unravel him like all the nights he used to.

The rest of the buttons come undone, leaving his torso exposed so Noctis can touch his quivering fingers over his stomach, pressing them between the indents of his abdominal muscles and enjoying the way they rise and convulse with each labored breath starting to spill from Ignis' mouth. He has to remind himself not to shutter his eyes too much, trying to watch Ignis' handsome features smooth out with pleasure, the color of his eyes now a dark and intense blue under the night's veil as Ignis pants against his mouth.

Their lips keep finding each other clumsily, touching, spreading, biting until Ignis murmurs his name like it's a plea that Noctis is desperate to answer. Experience has made him a little braver but still reckless and messy, body pressing back to the steering wheel so he can rock his hips forwards while arching against it, searching for leverage to keep pushing their lower bodies together. There's too much heat from where their cocks touch through their pants, sweat caught between his thighs and bunching unpleasantly around his underwear, but Noctis doesn't stop as desperation takes a hold of him, wanting more even when he knows what will happen.

He's beyond the point of caring with Ignis' hands now moving around his rear, squeezing fingers into the muscle to wrench him forward and thrust up into him like he would if there were no clothes in between, and the urge transforms into something more primal when his body responds with a tremor that twists its way up his spine and makes Noctis dig his own fingernails into Ignis shoulders, finding new purchase there. With the roof down, he can also lift himself, move with more freedom, riding him through the dampening layers as he breathes out hoarsely, wishing he could ask for more -wishing he had the capacity to wait for more.

But he can't and doesn't want to, impulse-driven to keep trying to fuck himself over Ignis' lap as Ignis cradles him to his body, and the older man's voice is distractedly enrapturing as it breaks, composure fragmented in the way way he chokes out his name again until they're both spiraling out of control too fast, barely teetering on the edge of a mind-numbingly good release except Ignis' hand chooses that moment to reach in between and undo his pants with lightning quick reflexes. The moment he feels Ignis' smooth palm wrap around his cock is the moment Noctis knows he's absolutely done, his whole body lurching into his grip with a gasp loosened from his lips as he thrusts repeatedly until he comes in spurts over his arm.

It's hard to hold himself up after, wanting to sag over him heavily, but he has enough sense to try and finish Ignis off too as he scoots back enough and lets his back rest precariously against the steering wheel once more.

"Are you all right, Noct?" Ignis breathes out, trying in vain to hold himself together as his fingers brush through his fringe.

There's something unbearably heart-warming about his expression right now, and Noctis tells himself not to be mislead and even more importantly not to fall more deeply for him because that's a dangerous road to go down when he only meant for this to be a quick tension release. But Ignis makes it hard not to sometimes, so he glances away and nods wordlessly as his hands languidly undo his pants for him to dip inside.

It's better to focus on the physical components than to get caught up in everything else because this is all the more uncomplicated when it's just about getting off, but it's a lie he keeps having to tell himself over and over again. If he had the chance to be with him for a lot longer, he'd take it without hesitation. However, Ignis has made it clear plenty of times that he wouldn't do the same, so he's left trying not to get caught up in the moment as he hears the way Ignis' breaths splinter as he strokes him, hand trailing over the length and texture of his cock, realizing just how familiar it's all become to him.

Only a few years ago he'd been so inexperienced and uncomfortable with the thought of even touching him like this, and now, he's trying to imagine himself living the rest of his life without it. Without a lot of things if he's honest with him. It's difficult to accept that he doesn't want to keep watching Ignis' face when it twists in pleasure, that he doesn't want to try and see what shade his eyes will turn at different stages of his desire, that he doesn't like inhaling the scent of clean soap and paprika from the inside of his neck when he leans in. There's very little he doesn't find weirdly intoxicating, and he's committing it all to memory fast like he's already convinced himself this is the only concession Ignis will ever give him.

It's unfair, but he'll enjoy it while he can, cradling him with his hand and caressing him with quick, shallow strokes until Ignis' hips are trying to cant upwards so he can push against his fingers. A thin sheen of sweat covers his chest, drops rolling idly along his sternum that Noctis bends over to lick before his teeth clamp around the skull necklace hanging from his neck. He doesn't know what compels him at that moment to give it a tug with his teeth, only that doing so seems to unravel what's left of Ignis' control as the older man suddenly grabs him by the shirt and hoists his lips to his own, kissing him almost violently as he shudders against him. Saliva rolls down his chin between where their lips are smashed together, pressed hard and tinged with pain, but Ignis' whole body feels alive and ignited beneath him in a way that Noctis would get addicted to if he ever allowed himself to.

When they finally part for air, the both of them are left tiredly breathing outwards, watching one another through hazy glimpses before Noctis drops his forehead to Ignis' shoulder, and he feels his arms rise up to hug him, a rare and intimate embrace that he usually only allowed himself to initiate after sex. It feels like the only time he could ever get Ignis this yielding towards him was when he's just come all over himself, but he thinks that simple truth works both ways because he's not exactly fighting how much he's enjoying being held by him at the moment.

"How's the wound?" Ignis manages to get out after a moment, and it's unsurprising that that would still be the first thing on his mind even after all that just happened.

Noctis almost wants to laugh at the nature of his priorities but instead answers, "Might have to change the bandages again, considering where we ...er..."

He gestures awkwardly to the mess they made, and to his surprise, Ignis laughs first.

"I suppose so."

Neither of them want to be the first to move however, too distracted by the pleasant evening ambiance as their gazes are drawn back to the stars above. It's an evening Noctis wishes could be stretched out into a whole year or maybe ten. The fact that he'll have to wake up and face reality tomorrow is an unpleasant one, and he desperately wants to find the words to tell Ignis that he doesn't want to lose this and is tired of having to give it up for one reason or another. It's one of the few things left that makes him happy right now.

His head continues to rest on its side and pillow itself on Ignis' shoulder as he breathes out, allowing himself for once to just soak in the moment.


End file.
